


Warmth

by black_cosmos



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Gen, M/M, Shimosa Spoilers, Spoilers, a lot of crying on my part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-26 14:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12559636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_cosmos/pseuds/black_cosmos
Summary: Once more, he’s dying. The smell of fire lingers in the air—and this time, he can feel it. It’s coming in close. The crackle of the wood work that once held the castle is sounding his impending demise. From the distance, he thinks he can still hear fighting. He can’t really say that the second time is any better than the first.





	Warmth

It has just been an idea.

A thought.

A suggestion.

No one really knows what it feels like to be out of options, not to the point where you’re driven to a corner with no where else to turn to. The scene before him is etched to the backs of his eyelids—the sounds repeating over and over and over and over. Everyone he’s known is killed before his eyes: comrades, acquaintances, and friends. Everyone he’s tried to protect are abused: children and women. But it is the smell that feels like whiplash. He remembers it the most: of blood, of fire… of burning bodies. There’s nothing quite like that smell, at least not one that he could compare it to. He doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to find a comparison either if he had lived longer than the seventeen years.

Ah… there’s so much else he wanted to do. There’s been so much he wanted to change—he still wants to.

If only’s, could’ve’s, would’ve’s…. regret feels just as heavy as guilt. It’s a feeling that feels like it’s dragging the remains of his already shattered chest down to the ground.

He offers a prayer. Is it a prayer? A bargain? It was a plea.

A desperate plea from a child who has made a terrible mistake.

Just when he thought they’ve fallen on deaf ears… he remembers. He remembers the idea. He remembers the thought. He remembers the suggestion. He remembers seeing him, he remembers the hand offering another chance.

One more time.

What’s he to say? What’s anyone who has been in position to say? There is no alternative. There are no other routes. There is no escape. This is what he’s been waiting for: his miracle. Ironic that the boy of miracles, at the last moments of his life, only wished for one more miracle. He doesn’t want to die like this. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He betrays everything that he is. He betrays everything that he believed in… and he takes the hand offered to him.

After all, everything that he believed in, everything that he is, and everything that he has fought for has already betrayed him. What’s left?

Yet where has that left Amakusa Shirou Tohkisada?

Once more, he’s dying. The smell of fire lingers in the air—and this time, he can feel it. It’s coming in close. The crackle of the wood work that once held the castle is sounding his impending demise. From the distance, he thinks he can still hear fighting. He can’t really say that the second time is any better than the first. Well, he supposes at the very least, the sound of his people dying and being abused isn’t filling his ears.

The guilt is far worse, though. It’s debatable at best to call it a bargain.

What have I done’s, why did I do this’s, and why did I let him’s ring his ears. Guilt, this time, weighs heavier. Amakusa Shirou Tohkisada would not blame the man who has done this to him. He has done this to himself. Though out of fear, anger, and desperation, he’s still the one who took his hand.

The idea, the thought, the suggestion… this is what it amounts to.

There is no penance for what he’s done. Perhaps it’s in the mercy of his Lord who still loves him though he certainly is the last person to deserve it, that he’s dying slowly from his battle wounds. He doesn’t know what’s going to do him in, the state of his body or this balance collapsing on him? Either way, he has plenty time for self pity and contrition.. neither of which are going to do him any good.

Is he imagining the sound of someone walking towards him?

He can’t even really turn his head to look. He thinks he sees a shadow. Is it him again? Has he come to try to give him another chance? This time, he thinks that he can be wise enough to refuse.

Desire less, his father has told him once, a long time ago.

“You are going to die here.” The voice calls, a different one from that man. He doesn’t think he’s heard this voice before. What he says makes him let out a rush of breath—something of an amused one, but it’s hard to express that when his breathing is now just rasps.

He knows. He knows that he’s going to die, he’s been through this once before.  
  
Why does he sound so sad?

“Vengeance doesn’t suit you. You should just leave it to me.”

“How do you know me?” Shirou didn’t think that he’s going to be spending the last of his strength talking, of all things. He supposes there isn’t really much else he could do. He can’t really see this person. He can see his shoes, his pants… definitely out of this period but not quite like that young man. He wishes he could take back what he has asked though. It doesn’t matter now, does it? “Will you… will you do me a favour and listen to my last words…? The last time didn’t go so well."

He manages a laughter, a weak and airy laughter. He feels tears pinching at his eyes, yet the stranger offers no response. Shall he take his silence as an agreement then?

“I bear no ill towards the man who offered me this life… I saw… I saw a different me.” Just as he tries to swallow to keep talking, he coughs out blood. As weak as his body is, his lungs are still struggling to get air instead of blood... to breathe? How awful. He waits for it to calm down before he speaks, no longer hesitating. He can’t waste another second now, can he? “And in that vision, all I’m doing is still fighting and longing—I couldn’t stand it… I’ve carried this weight for only as long as I’ve lived again and I…”

There are no longer floodgates. He’s crying. He doesn’t think he cried the last time. He continues, “I feel a sense of relief… maybe I was afraid of the me that I saw. As guilty as I am, as selfish, and as sinful, I’m relieved to be dying and not having to live like him…”

"It still doesn’t make it any easier to lay here dying, though.” Shirou murmurs.... ah, it is cold. His wounds has felt warm from the blood flowing from them. It’s felt wet, and now there’s just nothing. It’s cold. He thinks he’s opened his eyes, but he can’t see. Outwardly, is he still crying? He lifts his hand up, with the last of his strength. He wills his hand up, reaching for something that isn’t there. What is he reaching for…? Everything that he’s felt the last time is amplified. It hasn’t gotten easier. He doesn’t want to die like this. He doesn’t—he isn’t doubting his faith. He knows that there is something waiting for him, and he hopes it’s just punishment.  
  
But this? This is something he doesn’t know how to prepare himself for. Really, how could anyone? Let alone a child? “I’m scared… this is scary…”

He feels something warm. His hand. Someone’s holding his hand. He feels warmth going for his eyes, too, as if they're being touched. It's followed by the gentlest voice, “It’s alright, Shirou. You’ve done well—you’ve done everything you could and that’s all anyone could’ve asked of you.”

He thinks he cries even more. There’s relief… more relief than the thought that it’s over now. Perhaps he could even call it catharsis. No one's told him that he's done well... that he's done everything he could. No one's ever told him that this is all that's asked of him. He always assumes that people are asking more of him. He's always thought that he could've done more than just let people down.   
  
He's done well... 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. It is alright to rest. Are you not tired? When you wake... I'll be in Chaldea with you.” The gentle voice continues, and Shirou smiles.  
  
Now that he's mentioned it...   
  
Wait a minute, what's Chaldea again?

Oh, but he thinks… he thinks that he just might just rest. He is tired… he is so tired. When was the last time he slept?

It is a little cold though, but the hand holding his is warm.  
  
His words are kind.

He nods and he thinks he closes his eyes, and he breathes his last, “Okay."

Ah... he should probably ask for this kind stranger's name, but he really is tired. Are his eyes even open...? Maybe when he wakes up...   
  
He did say he's going to be there when he wakes up.


End file.
